SharpShooter
by Lunar
Summary: It's hard to climb back into the saddle after life goes and tips you sideways. Briareos, faces the fact that he needs to overcome his self-doubts regarding his new mechanized body and get back on the job with guns blazing when Deunan's kidnapped by some bomb-wielding terrorists. Cyborg to the Rescue!
1. Chapter 1

Sharpshooter (ch1)

Characters and universe created by Masamune Shirow

Manga continuity, prewar (Deunan & Briareos are still working for the LAPD)

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BRIAREOS

Even with weeks of coaching, the sound of his phone going off _inside_ his head, was enough to make him flinch and drop the papers he'd been holding. Briareos sighed and counted the small blessing that at least it'd only been papers, and they hadn't fallen far. Already sitting at his desk the mess was limited to his worktop, one errant sheet of a report sliding sideways towards the floor. He caught it absently, pleased that he didn't crumple the offending document in the reflexive grab, and carefully set it atop the messy pile before taking a breath and concentrating on the process of connecting the incoming call to his voice circuits. Why he couldn't just have a damned phone like he used to, he had no idea. Then again, it wasn't like he could just hold a handset up to his ear anymore. No ears.

"This is Briareos. Who's this?" He frowned, or wished he could, as his software reported a calling-number he didn't recognize. It wasn't like he gave out his personal line on street corners, who would think to call him that he didn't already know? Usually it was just Deunan at home, or Deunan at work, or Deunan on her mobile. His life sure had gotten small since the accident. He snorted grimly to himself, small, and _weird_.

"Briareos? Thank god man. You're paper pushing today right? Meet us downstairs in like… two minutes, buddy."

"What?"

"This is Jim, by the way." His old friend on SWAT thought to remind him before abruptly hanging up the phone.

Briareos sat for a minute, confused by the random instructions before giving up with a sigh. There was no telling what Jim and the other jokers were up to without going down and seeing for himself. The directions hadn't exactly been explicit, but instinct lead him down the hall and through the back of the building to the lane reserved for the C&C trucks and SWAT vans, figuring it was a likely a place as anywhere to catch Big Jim when the guy was wound up about something. He wasn't disappointed. The flashing lights and general scurry of people told him that there was a call in progress, even though news of it hadn't reached his quiet corner of the department yet. Then again, reviewing cold-cases as he was, crimes-in-progress weren't his current focus.

Several guys in full armor came trotting out one after the next, more than one of them slapping him on the arm as if he was some sort of oversized mascot as they dove into the waiting truck. He counted out of habit, coming up with a full complement. Jim was only a moment later, wearing a headset and vest, but armed with a tablet rather than his usual assortment of guns.

"Running ops, Jim? What's wrong, the Commander taking a day off or something?" Briareos joked as the black man caught him by the shoulder and steered him to move along with him as he walked towards the truck.

"Commander Knute is already at the scene with team-A." Jim gave him a 'as you should have guessed' look and proceeded to climb in. When Briareos moved to assist by closing the doors on him, he found a hand on his arm, holding him in place. "Come on, jackass. Get in the damned truck. We're on a schedule here!"

"He doesn't fucking know…"

Briareos turned to the unexpected commenter from within, belatedly recognizing Scott under the new tinted helmets. "I don't know what…?"

"Two million dollars worth of state-of-the-art hardware, and it doesn't come with a police-band radio?" The blond flipped open his faceplate to stare at him in wry amusement. "That's just sad."

"I have a radio." Briareos inched closer to the back of the van and peered inside, giving serious consideration to the amount of floor space, the non-existent bench-space, and his physical dimensions. "I've just been keeping it off, it's damned distracting when I'm trying to concentrate on shit. Also… there is no way I'm fitting in this thing with all of you. Also, I'm not approved for field duty, even if I _could_ fit."

"You're fitting. Get in." Jim disagreed, reaching forward along with several other officers to grab hold of his sleeves and physically start pulling at him.

As ridiculous as he felt, he soon found himself staggering forwards and somehow sliding sideways between the narrow benches full of policemen to fit precariously towards the back. Reaching an arm out to each side, he marveled at how he could easily rest a palm on each wall. The move turned out to be fortuitous because the truck peeled out of the station with out a word of warning. The men around him shifted nervously as he staggered again and found a better grip on the gear-racks to keep from collapsing on top of anyone. "Christ, Jim. What the hell is going on?!"

"If you had your radio on, you'd _know_." His friend replied, aggrieved.

Even he could take a hint if it was beaten on enough. Briareos sighed and remembered how to engage the random bit of circuitry. The blitz of radio traffic was enough to make him dizzy. He exhaled in surprise and limited the signal down to just the official channel trying to make heads-or-tails of the various conversations he'd staggered into the middle of. People were in a tizzy about some hostage-situation downtown. He shook his head at hearing the size of the op, negotiators, SWAT, regular city squads running the cordon, guys from Interpol butting in saying that the criminals were part of their eminent domain and Commander Knute chewing into them with his usual acerbic attitude. It all seemed like a regular day at the office, he supposed, if one's office was at the heart of the dispatch center of the LAPD. Turning to Jim, he shrugged silently, asking what any of it had to do with him.

The big man rolled his eyes, speaking into his headset's mic as he responded for a request for status. "Team-B in transit, estimated time 5 minutes, make a hole in the 25th street cordon. We've picked up Officer 1640, per request. He's a little clueless but we'll fill him in." The last bit was said in a considerably less official tone.

Briareos made a rude noise as Jim pushed the head-set off to rest his elbows on his knees and glare at him. His fellow officer rubbed his neck and waited for him to behave himself. The truck took another tight turn, requiring him to abruptly shift his footing to keep from inadvertently tipping the damned thing with his high center of gravity. There was just no room to crouch. He sighed, looking around for a better place to hang onto. The only really feasible thing, he could see, is if everyone got out, and he sat on the floor to let them all pile back in and sit _on_ him. It wasn't a very appealing idea, he sighed again, but it'd probably work.

"Ok, smart-guy, here's the situation." The man smiled grimly. "An hour ago ten guys with full automatics and a suitcase full of high explosives stormed the GB bank on the corner of 25th and Lavaca. Now, they were smarter than your average bad-news-bears because they didn't try and take the whole building, instead they pulled the fire-alarms, so most everyone gets out… only to realize after the fact that they've kept back about 20 random bank customers and 14 odd employees as hostages. They _were_ threatening until about fifteen minutes ago to start shooting said-hostages if the bank president didn't turn over his vault codes and the police didn't provide promise of safe transport to the harbor… But surprise… it turned out we had an officer on the inside…"

Briareos saw the humor in the man's face, and felt the first tingle of dread along the remains of his spine. It was funny, how at times like this - with the shit hitting the proverbial fan - that his subconscious was ready to point out Deunan hadn't called to annoy him on her lunch break like she usually did. Jim opened his mouth to tell him the rest, but real life interrupted just as he was getting to the punch-line.

"Father? You still there? The nice-men-with-guns say they want me to read you their new terms…" Deunan's voice was on the radio, utterly recognizable despite the earnest-little-rich-girl affectation she was favoring. "Two armored trucks and police escort to the harbor, two tripod guns, sixteen sub-machine guns and a hundred rounds of ammunition for each…. Excuse me, is that like, a hundred bullets each, or a hundred cartridges where each cartridge is… Oh. Oh ok. They say they want cartridges, father. And also… five gallons of water, paper cups, ten pizzas for the hostages, and napkins, lots of napkins. I'm afraid they found the bank manager's personal liquor cabinet… Tell him I'm sorry but there was nothing I could do to stop them. They were kind enough to let me get a sip of the brandy, which was quite good. Also, if possible? I'd like sausage on my pizza? Thanks… oops."

Briareos cringed, both from her delivery of the message and at the obvious way that the radio had been snatched out of her less-than-terrorized hands.

The new speaker had a far less cheerful voice, but cut right to the point. "You heard your daughter, _commander_. Trucks and guns, and our escort, and we'll be on our way without any unnecessary bloodshed." The criminal laughed shortly. "As a show of good faith… we'll let half go now… Isn't that nice of us? Sadly I fear your pretty blonde daughter will have to stay here with us, however, point of fact I think we'll take her along to the harbor with us… as insurance."

"Oh really? That's great! Getting out onto the water on a day like today is really living, isn't it… Oh but I'm not wearing the right shoes for being on a boat…"

Briareos cringed again at Deunan's cheerful commentary in the background, torn between wanting to slap her for not taking her situation seriously, and wanting to crack up laughing at what he could only imagine was the baffled expressions on the faces of the men trying to hold her hostage. He almost missed Carl's short tempered reply. He was engrossed in catching the back-end chatter on the police channels between the teams, gleaning what he could of the general scenario as they debated amongst themselves what they should do. Glancing sideways at the SWAT team, he found most of them in the same position, grinning and shaking their heads at Deunan's lunacy.

"I give up." He turned to Jim. "Fill me in already. What the hell does she think she's up to?"

"Apparently she was at the bank to pay some bills in her civvies on her lunch break." Jim rubbed his face, unable to conceal his tired smile. "You know her luck… She just has to be standing in line at the _one_ bank that was scheduled to get knocked_over by terrorists this week. Instead of doing anything stupid, your little girl plays it cool for once and goes along with the creeps as they do the whole 'down on the floor' thing. It's only when they start picking pockets of the random customers that they come up with her wallet…"

"And they found her badge." He sighed, amazed they hadn't shot her on the spot. Thank god they hadn't. As bad as it was to find her a hostage for the afternoon, it was far better than rushing to the hospital.

"Again, the little woman is a cool customer today. On top of her game, you could say. Because what does she do? She plays the little token-police-princess to the hilt." Scott cracked up at Jim's pithy summary, sliding his faceplate down to muffle his chortles as the team leader glared at him for his mirth. Jim just sighed. "Don't ask me how she did it, but apparently it took her less than five minutes to convince them that the only way she became a policewoman was because she was good at making coffee and because her 'dear father is somewhat important' on the force. I'm pretty sure they now think she's some sort publicity officer in charge of visiting elementary schools or something nuts like that."

"Oh my god." Briareos rubbed his head, wondering how much longer she could keep the act up before her temper got the better of her. Or worse, that her sense of melodrama would make her tell one lie too many and the gang caught on to the fact she was mocking them mercilessly. "How long has she been doing the 'oh my goodness, Pollyanna' bullshit now?"

"Easily two hours, I'd guess." Jim pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. He offered it to him companionably and then hesitated, realizing that Briareos couldn't just take a swig and pass it back the way he used to. Briareos spared him the embarrassment by just waving the bottle off as unnecessary. He wasn't thirsty. He wasn't sure what he was, other than shocked-as-hell.

"So… someone want to tell me why I'm here?" He shrugged, still confused as to the key point.

Sure he was glad to be in the loop regarding Deunan's latest insanity, but he wasn't field-approved, didn't even have a weapon assigned to him for the past six months… Hadn't so much as stepped onto the training ground since he got benched for severe depression back in the fall. While he was looking forward to someday in the near future being allowed back onto active duty, and perhaps even the SWAT team roster again, he didn't think it'd be anytime soon.

Seeing the chagrined looks from his old friends he shrugged. "She's got her father, an award-winning negotiator flown in from Utah, two SWAT teams, some Interpol agents and the Coast Guard all working together to ensure she gets out of this safe and sound. What the hell am I supposed to bring to the table that'll make lick of difference?"

Jim held up a hand to forestall him. "First, the commander asked us to bring you down… you'll have to ask him why yourself. Second, Deunan's been cooing over her 'poor boyfriend who will be worried sick' for the last hour as part of her little charade, so they'll probably want you to provide some corroborating evidence to her act."

"She's having way too much fun." He muttered to himself, hanging on tightly as the truck banked around a turn and just as suddenly hit the breaks, causing the guys sitting nearest to him to flinch at the idea of having him fall forward into their kneecaps. Briareos caught himself with a curse and wedged himself against the back wall of the truck as best he could. "So much for thinking she'd grow out of being crazy by now…"

"Grow _out_ of it?" Scott popped open his helmet again, giving him an astounded look. "Man, you have been more out of touch than we thought, if you think that. If anything she's growing _in_ to it… You thought she was nuts before you nearly snuffed it? Our little Dee-Dee has grown up into a holy terror. Have you _seen_ her on the gun range lately? I bet she could give even _you_ a run for your money. Or at least, the you from two years ago…" He temporized after a moment's thought.

"I'm sure Carl is thrilled." He drawled, unable to entirely stop himself from feeling a bit depressed again at the thought of how much of Deunan's life he'd missed out on in the year-plus he'd been absent. She wasn't his little kitten anymore, he sighed. Not that she'd ever been all that innocent, even as a kid she'd been a genuine hand-full. Now she was a damned hellcat. Unsure of whether he was proud of the development or just worried, he listened to the double-meanings in her idle chatter on the radio and had to compliment her on her 'act'. If the officers listening were catching half of the crap he was, than they had to be just grinning for joy at the way she was keeping them appraised of the gang's positions in the building and state of other hostages. Hellcat or not, if she survived this debacle, he was going to have to reward her somehow for coming up with such a clever ploy.

"Father have you been able to call honey-bear yet? I promised him I'd be home by five and I don't want him worrying if I end up taking a trip out to the harbor instead…"

Briareos froze. His attempts to stabilize himself as the truck rattled and shook were forgotten at the sound of Deunan's latest question to her silently fuming parent. He could almost _hear_ the commander counting under his breath to keep from barking at his child and spoiling her 'good girl' persona.

"He's heard of what's happened, darling." Briareos couldn't imagine Deunan's father saying the world 'darling' in a non-ironic way, but somehow the man was pulling it off. Probably pushing it out through gritted teeth, but saying it none-the-less. It was almost as surprising at hearing the overly saccharine nickname that Deunan had come up with for an alias. "Your boyfriend's on his way down right now, in fact." Carl added, managing to sound kind even. "He's very worried, naturally."

"Honey-Bear is coming?" Her patently faked tone of surprised pleasure did nothing to prevent him from grinding his teeth at the repeated endearment. Glancing morbidly sideways at the suddenly deathly-silent van, he spotted more than one pair of shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"Honey-Bear?" Jim mouthed silently, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You can't be serious. She calls _you_, Honey-Bear?"

"No." He growled. "Point of fact, she doesn't."

"Sugar-britches?" Scott proposed as their truck pulled past the barricades. Clearly he had a death wish. Briareos glared at him but clearly it was another case where his new face was going to let him down because the joker didn't take the hint. "I know, I know… 'Pookie.' She calls you 'Pookie.' How adorable is that…"

Now that they were stopped, there was no reason not to reach for the man with both hands in a vague threat to impose bodily harm on him. The officer simply laughed harder at his discomfort. "Just so long as she doesn't do the 'Spank me Daddy' thing, that'd be really…. Strange. Especially considering her father."

"Thanks for that." Briareos sighed. "Now I've got _that_ mental image to haunt me for the rest of my days."

"You're welcome." His old friend grinned unrepentantly, stepping out of the truck when his turn came.

"I hate all of you." Briareos pointed out to the rest of the sniggering SWAT team filing out ahead of him. "I just want you all to know that."

"Whatever, Honey-Bear." Jim smacked him on the shoulder as he climbed out at the back of the group, smirking at the opportunity to tease him. "You're wanted in the C&C truck. Mind the media-drones, they're out in force. Guess it's a slow news day."

Briareos sighed again, realizing that most likely, that meant the entire city would now be calling him 'Honey-Bear'. He prayed to hell that Commander Knute had thought to invoke a media blackout on the radio communication in the name of the delicate negotiations he was overseeing. If Deunan lived through this? He was going to kill her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sharpshooter (ch 2)

Characters and universe created by Masamune Shirow

this fic is set in Manga-verse, pre-war (They're still working for LAPD)

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BRIAREOS

The news-drones were as thick in the air as Jim said they'd be. Briareos tried to look nondescript as he separated from the SWAT team and headed towards the bus-sized communications vehicles where the Colonel was undoubtedly waiting. The small propeller-flown remote cameras spotted him just the same, whirring in the air as they turned and focused on him. There was one guess as to why. He sighed to himself, tucking his chin to his chest and using the shadows of the trucks around him to make their operators work hard to get a clear shot of him. He knew he stuck out in a crowd. It wasn't like he could help it. There weren't any other combat cyborgs listed in the LAPD, and he hadn't exactly been 'introduced' to the media yet. They probably thought he was some kind of breaking news.

Briareos winced at the probable 'buzz' his presence was generating. He wasn't a specialist. He wasn't even SWAT anymore. Despite Jim's insistence that his presence was requested, he didn't exactly see what use he was supposed to be. He nodded to the officer acting as door-guard to the main C&C truck. Tentatively sticking his head and shoulders into the compartment, he was obliged to wonder again whether he'd fit in the usually cramped confines. As expected, the narrow aisle down the center of the van was already half-packed with people. Most of them were bent seriously over their equipment, talking into radios and headsets as they managed the multi-division force. The officer closest to the door glanced up, noticed him, and damned near fell out of his chair in surprise. He winced at the not-unexpected reaction strangers had at the sight of him.

The ripple of momentary panic alerted the com-man's fellows that there was a new development. Seat-by-seat down the aisle people paused in their work to look over at him, noting his arrival. Those that knew him already nodded and got back to work. The newer officers stared at his uniform a moment in shock, only to return to their work with frequent distracted glances in his direction as they sought to figure out his reason for existing. Briareos tried to not let it bother him, and really, Deunan would have been proud of how little the slack-jawed gaping killed his mood.

Towards the other end of the vehicle he saw the negotiator deep in conversation with his staff, and waved slightly to get the man's attention. He'd _thought_ it was Agent Hollister based on hearing the man's voice on the radio, but he hadn't been certain. It was nice to be proved right. The grey haired consultant was, as always, the best dressed guy in the crowd. He looked very much as he had two years ago when they'd last met up on a job. Unlike most government agents, Briareos had liked the guy from the beginning. Unflappable and with a rare dry sense of humor, the man made an excellent counter-balance for their commander's occasionally short-tempered tactics during situations like this. He was wearing his tie loose, and his shirt collar open thanks to the stuffy heat inside the van.

Hollister caught wind of his arrival just as he was taking a sip from his bottle of water, which was unfortunate for his aide sitting across from him. The resulting spit-take would have been hilarious if he hadn't been the root cause. Briareos shrugged as the agent stared at him in amazement, blindly mopping at his wet mustache with a napkin. His shock didn't last long. Hollister pushed his way through the crowd with an amazed smile. "Christ, Briareos? Is that really you?"

He resisted the urge to squirm under the freelancer's searching gaze, knowing that the man was trying to find _something_ familiar in his new face to be able to recognize him properly. Sadly there was nothing to find. Short of playing twenty-questions with each other or undergoing some fairly invasive DNA extraction, Hollister would just have to trust his badge number from now on. Briareos snorted. At least his distinctive look made it easy to recognize him on the _second_ encounter. People never seemed to need to ask for his name twice anymore.

Taking pity on the man he leaned closer to be heard over the chatter of officers around them. "I promise, it's a new look but same old me. Been a while since I last saw you, too. Still pulling that ridiculous salary just for sweet-talking assholes?"

"A lot less risky than my old job of shooting at them." The negotiator grinned, slapping his shoulder companionably. "I was never very good at the shooting in the first place. If I'd kept at it, I'd have probably ended up looking like you!"

"I do make a great object-lesson for the rookies, these days." Briareos joked. "Learn to duck or you'll end up steel-plated. Only less good looking."

"Jesus, Carl _said_ you'd been 'extensively cybernetized'." Hollister shook his head at the understatement. "You'd think I'd learn by now to scale my expectations in accordance to what he considers 'extensive.' What the hell happened to you?"

"Cluster rocket. Or at least that's what they tell me." He shrugged at his hazy memories leading up to his injury. "I don't remember a damned thing, honestly. But the doctors told me I as near as bought-the-farm as anyone they'd ever worked on."

His old acquaintance made a sympathetic face, knowing when to let a line of inquiry go and when to push. Seeing no reason not to get to the point of his visit, Briareos was happy to field the new conversational topic. "I was supposed to report to the Commander on arrival, but I don't see him. Don't suppose you can fill me in on what I'm supposed to be doing here? I got shanghai'ed from HQ without so much as a 'do you mind'…"

"Oh! Well. I was told that you and Deunan are still-" Hollister raised an eyebrow tactfully implying the rest of his question.

Briareos couldn't blame him. It was one thing to be told a guy was 'cybertinized' and still dating the commander's daughter. It was something else to deal with the reality of him as he was now, and Deunan. Half the time he couldn't believe it himself. Still, if she didn't mind living with him even as he was, who the hell was he to complain? He nodded in answer, "Yeah, we have a place on the north side of town."

Hollister smiled at that, looking genuinely pleased. "Well Deunan's a rare kind of girl, so I can't say I'm surprised. Good to see you again, regardless of the whole…" He gestured vaguely at his new body. "To answer your first question. Carl's in the 'booth' having a shouting match with some idiots out in Brussels who are trying to yank us and send in their own 'team'… No doubt he'll be out to talk to you soon. As far as the building goes? The perpetrators been letting Deunan call over with an update to their demands about once every half-hour, and we can usually chat with her for about ten minutes before they get frustrated and take her radio away. They still have ten hostages, including her. Carl wants to get that number down to four or less before we go in."

"The idea is to have you take over on the radio for us while we get the rest in place." The agent smoothed his mustache thoughtfully. "Carl- well you know as much as I do how he and his daughter have a difficult rapport with one another, especially under stress."

"So I'm to keep the old man from having an aneurysm from having to deal with Deunan one-on-one?" Briareos shook his head in amusement. He'd never heard someone try and describe his girl's often-turbulent relationship with her parent so smoothly. They'd both probably borne-witness to the pair's wince-inducing arguments before. Equally hot-tempered, and equally bull-headed, father and daughter had only grown more adversarial over the years. Where as a child Deunan might have bent neck and caved with sufficient pressure, as an adult she was willing to fight it out until threatened with a disciplinary proceeding when truly riled.

He couldn't help but think that his arrival 'home' a year ago and their subsequent agreement to get an apartment together was actually just a convenient excuse for Deunan to escape the main campus. Living in each other's pockets was doing neither parent nor child any good in terms of long-term sanity. She seemed to need the private space to decompress after work as much as he'd needed the cyborg-friendly amenities.

"Exactly." Hollister patted his shoulder again, recognizing that they were of one mind on the potential trouble. "That and the Colonel and I have a hunch that we're missing some of her cues for, well, lack of a certain understanding of her vocabulary. As she wasn't a deliberate plant, we didn't have any keywords prepped. She's doing a remarkably good job of adlibbing… But I suspect that someone with a broader range of shared experience would have an easier time puzzling out what she's trying to say."

He had to laugh again at the older man's understatement. "I read you. I guess I'm the resident expert at Deunan's particular brand of 'crazy'." He shrugged accepting his fate. "Sure. Count me in."

Had the situation been different, he'd have balked at the idea of playing-pretend with the girl for the sake of intel-gathering when he ought to have been out there trying to rescue her. But Briareos didn't kid himself that out-of-practice as he was, he'd be anything but underfoot for the teams awaiting orders outside. It made sense that he help out in the van. If anyone could play 'translator' for her, it was probably him.

Briareos let the negotiator take on the chore of clearing enough space to fit one oversized cyborg in the cramped vehicle. Doing what he could to help, he pulled free one of his mass-interconnects from his neck, offering it to a baffled looking engineer as the man tried to figure out how he was going to wear a standard headset. "Got a two meter extension cable?"

The communications officer sighed in relief and found him the adapter he needed.

Jacked into the high-security network, Briareos took a minute to figure out the additional audio as well as video channels. It was headache-inspiring, but he could actually 'see' through the bank's hundreds of security cameras. He wondered if the kaleidoscope of views was something like what a bug's perspective was like.

Concentrating harder he discovered he could narrow his focus to one specific camera at a time and immediately the data stream became more manageable. Some of the cameras were disabled, or flat out destroyed, but a surprising number were available, and stranger yet, controllable thanks to his eager-to-help software system. He leaned mentally on one of the devices, finding that with a few false starts he could make it pan left and right. His experiment caused minor panic from the officer sitting across from him who was _also_ looking at the image data. Briareos apologized sheepishly and put the camera back to the way he'd found it.

Hopping from view to view he eventually found one of use. A cluster of nervous looking young men with machine guns, and Deunan wearing the pink blazer she'd left the house in that morning, perched carefree and cute on the edge of a desk right in the middle of them. She gestured animatedly as she chatted up one of her captors, but there was no audio into the room. He supposed no one had gotten close enough to plant a mic yet. The sheer amount of firepower exhibited by the crew told him more than anything else that there was something serious going on. They looked prepared to take down a small country, not just a bank building. Why they were asking for _more_ was anyone's guess.

"Little idiot." He sighed in dismay.

"You should have been here half an hour ago." The commander caught him by surprise. Briareos tried not to flinch. His attention focused more on the remote view he was studying than on the room around him, he didn't even hear the senior officer approach. Carl looked more than usually pissed about something. "Where the hell were you?"

"Working?" He resisted the urge to back talk to the older officer, recognizing the surly attitude as being blow over from another source, probably Brussels. Judging by the man's look he didn't need to be antagonized further. "I'm here now. Hollister tells me I'm to play doting-schmuck on the phone to match Deunan's air-headed-blond? I think the pair of you are nuts, but sign me up."

"Thank you for your assistance." The old man replied with minimal sarcasm. "You've been briefed? If not, the files are in the 'Active' folder on the main drive. Can you read and talk at the same time?"

"I'll try." He found the files without any trouble, the background information on the thugs was eye opening to say the least. Carl gave him a run down on the teams in the field simultaneously bitching at Hollister about the supposedly 'special operations' team flying in from the north to assist them in capturing the international criminals. Briareos made the appropriate noises of agreement, paying only half his attention to the conversation.

All sorts of random traffic on the network was buzzing just beyond his reach, but the snippets he gleaned were fascinating. He hadn't thought to try to 'plug-in' to a com-truck before and the quantity of information at his fingertips was a little heady. Poking a likely looking program, he found that there was even incoming telemetry on the helicopters carrying Carl's unwanted 'assistants' in from Seattle.

Hollister elbowed him discretely when he missed his cue for the latest question directed his way. "Sorry, what?" Briareos rubbed his head sheepishly. "I was- Anyway, do we even know why they're after this bank in the first place? There's no notes on file."

"Rumor is that the vault held some industrial-data discs they were after. But the bank mangers refuse to give confirmation." Carl blinked, distracted from his annoyance by the question. "It doesn't explain why the international-set is so hot to apprehend these morons here in LA rather than just tag them now and bag them later. But… That is the assumption we're currently working under."

"And they've already got what they want?" He clarified, watching the camera again to see that the group was tense, but not exactly hot-footing around. Two of the bigger bruisers looked like they were arguing with eachother, while Deunan was talking with a thin guy in a wrinkled suit. Clearly they felt they were in a 'waiting game'. So whatever it was they were doing, they were either doing it now, or had already finished and were just waiting for their exit.

As usual, Commander Knute and his old gang had done their job in securing the area and covering all reasonable courses of action. He checked out of curiosity to see if there were any snipers on the rooftops and was pleased to recognize two out of three of them. Even the third badge number he had a hunch he knew. Some new-guy just coming up to speed when he'd shipped out for his stint in Algiers. Briareos resisted the urge to sigh that he wasn't up there with them. He did his share of door-raids, sure, but the rooftops were always the quietest place to be on jobs like this. He'd felt in his element watching the operations unfold from behind his scope.

Even if he did get back into SWAT he doubted he'd be volunteering for the long-range assignments anymore. Deunan would be bored to tears staked up on a roof somewhere with all the heavy action happening hundreds of feet away. He resigned himself to wading in at the front more often than before. Given the choice of watching from the distance as his girl cheerfully let herself got shot at, or sticking close and trying to keep her from getting killed, he knew which way he'd go.

"Daddy, you there?" Deunan's too-sweet question came across the channel they'd isolated as 'hers', distracting all of them from their speculation.

Briareos looked to his commander and was waved towards the screen with an exasperated expression. Clearly he was on-deck. Hollister was busily scribbling on a note pad, so there was no help to be had there. With no other idea, he linked over the communication channel to respond to her hail.

"Not quite, baby. It's me." He didn't have to try too hard for 'concerned,' which was good, since he didn't consider himself much of an actor.

"Baby? Is that you? I'm so glad to hear your voice!" Her surprised coo of happiness made him tuck his chin to his chest with the urge to laugh. It was just too ridiculous. Compared to the usual way she answered his calls, she was an entirely different person. "They got you my message?"

"What message?" He had to ask. "I got a call saying come down right away, so here I am. You ok? They haven't hurt you?"

"Everyone keeps asking that…" Deunan chided playfully. "I keep telling you guys, they're not that bad. They even agreed to let another two hostages go, like they agreed with Mr. Hollister. Is the pizza here yet? I'm totally hungry, honey-bear, I should have eaten a bigger breakfast… But I was planning to stop at Napoli's just as soon as I deposited a check… thank goodness I'd just finished when the bank closed."

Glancing sideways, Briareos realized that Hollister was holding up a note for him. The man's handwriting was unbelievably neat. He shook his head at yet another example of why the agent was born for his line of work. "I'm told that it'll be there in ten minutes, kitten."

Seeing Carl also holding up a note, in far-less-legible handwriting, he grimaced at the words underlined for emphasis. Some paraphrasing would be in order on that particular message. "And listen to me, I want you to be a good girl and don't cause any trouble for those men, alright? We're going to get you out of this, so just sit tight."

He held his breath as he watched the cameras, able to guess how well she'd take such a stricture. Carl had a point though. The last thing they needed was for her to take her 'rescue' into her own hands in a fit of impatience. He was suddenly glad he was there. _Probably_ she'd listen to him when he told her to sit-tight. "I will, baby. I promise." She agreed in her over-the-top cute voice. "They want me to ask about the truck they wanted too. I told them it might take a while, but…"

"We're working on it." Briareos read the next quick note from the negotiator, wishing he could roll his eyes at the various bullets he was supposed to some how work into a supposedly harmless conversation. His commander had a headset pressed to his ear, muttering instructions to the men in the field. Looking up the old man caught his attention and mouthed 'stall for time' at him. Scrounging for a way to start up a topic he could work with he suppressed a sigh. "What was your message for me? Was I supposed to bring something for you? Other than food, how is everyone doing?"

"Mrs. Stiller has a sprained wrist. They let me look at it but it didn't seem bad. They found some ice in the lounge for her. The others are all kinda tired of being tied up, but I think they're probably ok. Did they tell you that I might have to go down to the harbor later? I said I didn't mind, but that it be really crowded if we all tried to fit in the same truck with their gear… They travel with more bags than even _I_ do…"

"Tell them no dice." He disagreed for the sake of stalling, and because he saw an opening. One of the teams was moving into position, and a little insider information would be very well timed. "We made plans tonight, remember? With the downstairs neighbors? They wanted to come over and I was going to throw something on the grill?"

It was a long shot, but worth the chance. He hoped Deunan didn't think he'd gone crazy with his sudden tangent.

"Oh." Deunan paused, clearly wondering what he was up to. She covered for herself with a self-depreciating noise. "Wait that was tonight? I thought that was tomorrow… I'm such a ditz. Was I supposed to pick up anything at the store?"

Eavesdropping on the SWAT channel, he heard them infiltrate the basement and then debate tersely amongst themselves whether to take the left hand fire escape up to her level or the one on the right side of the building. The security cameras were telling him next to nothing, and apparently the team was having the same problem. Encountering a pitched gun-fight in the stairwell would probably require a retreat, and even if they did manage to kill a few perps, the others would be doubly on guard. Briareos carefully thought about his next question before seeing what his girl could tell him. "I was hoping you'd get home before me and check to see if Jim downstairs was planning to bring up Ribs, or Pork-loin. I know he hadn't decided yet and I don't want to do the same. Figured… whatever he was going for, I'd just do the opposite…"

"Well, I know for _a fact_ that he was talking about an old family recipe for the 'loin. So I think it'd be safer if you just stuck with ribs. Besides, I like ribs better." Deunan replied happily, giggling for good measure.

Carl gave him a look that promised murder, but told the team to go right just the same. Briareos breathed a sigh of relief as Jim and company silently raced the steps level by level without mishap. "See? You're not a ditz." He scolded gently. "You know all kinds of things. Now, listen sweetheart, I need you to get the head honcho on the line for a little bit, because Mr. Hollister has some important business to discuss with him."

"I'll try baby, but they don't seem to like talking with him." She sighed. "Hold on 'kay? Oh wait, I just thought of something for you. You know that squeaking noise you thought you heard in the bathroom the other day? And thought the fan was going bad in the vent? The landlord called me this morning and said he looked up there… And you'll never guess, but he found _five_ rats crawling around up there! Like big ones! Gross right? We so totally need to move… I get the shakes just thinking about- oops, wait Mr. Menolo wants the phone after all. Hold on."

"Mr. Hollister, I hear you wanted to talk with me?" Briareos made a soft noise of disgust at being interrupted. The negotiator slid his headset over his ears, immediately taking over the conversation while he sat back and thought.

Carl leaned on his shoulder, the gesture both appreciative and practical as the older man tried to make room for some junior officers to slip by. "Since when is 'pork loin' shorthand for 'left side?'" The senior officer raised an amused eyebrow. "I warned you years ago, Briareos, that spending too much time with that girl would do nothing but make you as crazy as she is. Are you willing to admit yet that I was right?"

"She's _your_ daughter." Briareos pointed out absently. "Besides, I like her crazy. It keeps life interesting."

"'May you live in interesting times' is _not_ a blessing according to Buddhists, you know." His commander snorted. "What the hell was she babbling bout with the rats? Was that actually relevant, or was she just bullshitting?"

"Rats in the ceiling…" Briareos had to admit he was a little baffled by that one. He called up a set of building blueprints and displayed them on the screen near his elbow, sorting through first the floor where Deunan was being held. When he found nothing, he expanded his search to the stairwell where the first SWAT team was still climbing for the roof.

If she wasn't warning him about herself, she had to be telling him something about the stairs. He opened a different schematic for the interior, showing him the location of the vents and found what he was looking for. There was an area where the venting intersected the staircase half way up the building on the main 'utility' floor where the bank's HVAC was located. The man-sized shafts were accessible both from a service hatch there, and from various other points in the ceilings of the level below. "Do the guys have spy-fiber on them?" He tapped the screen for his boss's benefit. "Or better yet, a 'prowler'?"

"Rats squeaking… Son of a bitch. Cute girl, really cute." The older officer turned and barked an order to the radio-man behind him. Turning back he sighed. "They have fiber, but we'll dispatch a prowler or two as well, might as well do a sweep of all the vents to see if they've rigged the place with explosives. Brussels insists it hasn't been their style in previous standoffs, but best to leave nothing to chance."

Engrossed with watching the methodical progress of his old team up through the building, Briareos nodded in agreement. His fingers itched to be doing something. He rubbed them along his arms rather than annoying the people around him by fidgeting. It felt strange to be watching the action when what he really wanted was to be in there with them.

The realization made him pause, and make a quick self-evaluation. He actually _wanted_ to fight. Not just in the nebulous 'this is what I ought to be doing' way he'd been thinking for the past month or two, but he truly wanted it, just for its own sake. He missed the excitement.

"Penny for your thoughts." The Colonel gave him a look. "I hear you've been hitting the obstacle course on your down time lately. Something I need to know about?"

"Deunan wanted to get some practice in so I agreed to spot her." Briareos gave the man his current-favorite excuse, not wanting to make it too easy for the old bastard. "Nothing secret about it."

"If you're doing well enough to get yourself through, _and_ watch out for my klutz of a daughter as well, it sounds like you're making considerable progress." Carl wasn't above baiting him. He gave the man a sideways glance, lowering his extendibles back against his head in a way Deunan had pointed out made him look like a disgruntled canine.

At first he'd been a little unnerved by the idea that his extendibles moved when he absentmindedly tried to wiggle his eyebrows. Dr. Zand had never mentioned it, and so it took his crazy hellcat pointing the phenomena out for him to realize it was happening. It wasn't exactly helpful, as far as human expressions went. Ironically, it worked far _too_ well as a way of impersonating the various moods of man's-best-friend. Deunan had kindly reserved her laughter for times when she could at least pretend he couldn't hear her. Still, given his limited options in regards to non-verbal expression, he'd take what he could get.

"I imagine it's about time I start finding the budget to get your armor fitted." The old man relented at last, giving him a speculative look. "I don't think you'll have a problem finding a team willing to take you on, provided you're willing to work your way up from the bottom again."

Carl smoothed his hair down and settled his cap on his forehead as he studied the screens. "The review of basic tactics will undoubtedly be good for you, and it's not like you don't already know the theory. Given your rather… unique situation, I think we could organize an appropriate 'test' for you at any point you're willing to make an attempt."

"I may take you up on that." Briareos agreed softly, tearing his attention away from the monitors in order to turn and look properly at his commander. "I have to admit, the paperwork is a bit boring."

"It's paperwork. It's supposed to be boring." Carl agreed dryly. "That's why we put people on it when we take them off field duty. Usually a little boredom is good for an officer attempting to get their head on straight after a trauma."

"Is that what I've been doing?" Briareos snorted in grim amusement. It was apt enough.

A burst of static and Jim's voice across channel-2 interrupted anything that the old man might have wanted to say in response. Listening keenly to the report his commander gave him a small smile. "We found the drones. Two for two. My compliments on your interpretation skills."

"I'm just glad they were able to override the 'bots programming without giving away the game." Briareos nodded, relieved that the potential snag in their plans had been resolved thanks to Deunan's quick thinking.

Hollister slouched next to them after wrapping up his ongoing bartering with the crooks holding the building. "Well, they're not pleased by the idea of Interpol sticking their big feet into this operation, but that could be a point in our favor." The negotiator rubbed his face. "They've taken in the food in, and we're retrieved two more of the hostages, so… so far so good. But in my professional opinion? They're getting twitchy, Carl. I trust your men are ready, if it comes to it?"

"They will be." The senior officer nodded, eyes narrowed at the thought of outside interference in his city. "We need a little more time." Twisting in his chair he tapped the shoulder of the officer behind him. "What's the ETA of those morons on the inbound flight?"

"Half an hour."

The colonel frowned and considered the data reflected on the screens around him. "It seems we are meant to wait." Lacing his fingers across his chest, he leaned back in his chair with an arch look to his negotiator. "Eight hostages left, and Deunan?" The other man nodded thoughtfully. "Any VIPs?"

"Other than your daughter?" Hollister raised his eyebrow at the casual question. "Not really."

"Very well."

Briareos gave the man a long look, but his commander seemed content to keep his plans to himself. He flipped through the security cameras again, needing to do _something_ to keep from tapping his fingers in impatience, but there was nothing new to see. Hostages, armed criminals, Deunan idly swaying in a swivel chair, looking bored out of her mind. Someone had tied her hands, he noted idly. Nothing too uncomfortable from the look of it, but still if they bothered to take the precaution now when they hadn't before? It didn't bode well.

Glancing back at his commander he stared at the man, getting the feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming. "You're not planning to go in there with Deunan still under their guns, are you? Are you that determined to have the collar before the Ops team arrives?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Carl raised an eyebrow at him, as if reassessing his mental-wellbeing for asking the question in the first place. Turning back to the screen the old man didn't look all that concerned at the idea of deliberately putting his last remaining child in harm's way. "I'd trust my men for this job more than any bunch of ill-briefed fools from the north who try to swan in."

"But-"

"When I want the opinion of a an officer benched due to failure to pass a psychological assessment, I'll ask for it."

Briareos bit back the rest of what he was going to say, stung by the harsh reminder of his current team status. With their banter he'd forgotten. The only reason why he was even in the C&C truck in the first place was to run interference between Deunan and her father. It was _she_ who was the key asset in the operation. He was just her accessory. Briareos rubbed his head in frustration. He was four-hundred kilos of combat grade cybernetics, not to mention what was left of the highly trained man he'd once been. There had to be _something_ he was good for other than 'playing house' in the suburbs with his girl. He had the ability, and the capacity… he'd had it all along. Briareos was chagrined to admit that Deunan's gentle scolding over the past months had been completely true. The only thing he'd been missing all this time was the motivation to actually _try_.


	3. Chapter 3

Sharpshooter (ch3)

Characters and Universe created by Masamune Shirow

This story is set in the Manga universe and precedes the war (Deunan & Bri are still working with the LAPD)

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BRIAREOS

Even watching the debacle unfold from the heart of the command center, he was amazed at how quickly it had all gone to shit. One minute they were bracing for the Colonel's orders to take the building, the next, four teams of unwanted 'help' were dropping into the scenario from mid-air, storming the already tense building from the roof. Naturally the criminals had panicked, and implemented their own defensive strategy. The resulting explosions had all but rocked the building off its foundations, as well as blew out windows up and down the street. The SWAT teams were in a state of organized chaos, attempting to respond to the new influx of 'friendly' forces and the rising threat level.

Listening to the blitz of radio communication as officers all but fell over him in their attempts to scramble, he was able to catch the news that none of his friends were injured in the unexpected trick. Hostage takers turned bombers, the gang of terrorists were attempting to use the disorder to make good an escape. Carl was shouting commands, Hollister was arguing in French on the phone and everyone else was struggling to do damage control as teams from both LA and Interpol argued over who had precedence in capturing the surviving cons.

Eventually he had no choice but to unplug. The roar of conflicting data, incoming reports, radio chatter, and fuzzy video was such that he not only lost track of Deunan within the smoking building but started to feel acutely dizzy, almost drunk, with information overload. Briareos staggered out of the Communication & Command truck to gather his wits. Sucking in deep lung-fulls of air, he rested his hands on his knees as he recovered. He looked over his shoulder at the bus-full of frantic men. He didn't want to go back inside. They didn't seem to need him at the moment.

His enhanced senses didn't help at all when it came to close-quarters work. The scent and sounds of panic were magnified to a degree that he could hardly think without muting his hearing entirely, sadly there wasn't any way that he'd found yet of turning off his nose. He needed it to breathe. There was always the option of holding his breath? Twenty minutes was about all he was good for, if he didn't shut down. Ever helpful when Briareos didn't need it to be, his AI provided him with the random bit of trivia. He mentally told his software to shut up, and felt the 'ghost' his head fade into the background.

A year of having the AI there made the phenomenon a little easier to deal with, but the occasional burst of unsolicited information from his subconscious still managed take him by surprise sometimes. Briareos wasn't sure whether he was more glad or disturbed that the uncomfortable sensation of 'otherness' from the software was fading with time. Pretty soon he was certain he wouldn't be able to tell anymore what was 'him' and what was artificial any more. It wasn't like he could do anything to stop it. And with Dr. Zand out of the country, there really wasn't anyone he could ask. Forcing himself to not worry about things that would just encourage a bleak mood, Briareos took another breath and stared up at the former-bank building.

It was a complete mess. Half the lobby was missing, blown out by the largest of the three explosions. It was a marvel that nobody had gotten seriously hurt. The EMTs were applying gauze and stitches to several officers caught by falling glass and brick, but so far there hadn't been any call for an evacuation. Good thing too. With Interpol's helicopters hovering over the building the air-space was too crowded to get a rescue 'chopper into the scene, so anyone who had to get out would have to fight through the traffic to the nearest ER. Briareos caught himself staring at the building again, unconsciously searching the windows. Somewhere in the smoke filled building, amidst the run-and-gun, fires, and debris, Deunan was missing. No one would be able to stop him, he realized dazedly, if he decided he wanted in. Twice as big as the biggest guy on the squad, he could push through just about any token-resistance the police could muster. The fire would hardly hurt him, and nothing short of an armor-piercing bullet could really slow him down. He could just walk right in, find Deunan, and walk right out again.

And promptly get suspended for life by his commanding officer for being certifiable enough to walk into a live combat scenario without a weapon, or even an active badge of his own. With his luck? Carl would probably _tazer_ him hard enough to blow his fuses for even making the attempt.

Still, he had to do _something_. Watching and waiting was doing nothing but getting him a head start on an ulcer. Having been an observer of more than his fair share of police actions, Briareos could smell it all going wrong. That this wasn't the frantic-pace of a mission executed-to-plan, but rather the nervous frenzy that came of realizing that the situation had moved beyond SWAT's ever so critical margin of control. He cursed the helicopters overhead and the arrogant bastards who'd sent them. Just charging in like that? What were they thinking?!

The whole thing stank of politics, and he didn't like it at all.

Briareos stood abruptly. An old familiar urge to get to higher-ground goaded him to move. It was too crowded on the street, too noisy, too chaotic. All he could smell was burnt-concrete and heated asphalt. Get _higher_, his gut told him, a perfectly organic and illogical impulse that had nothing to do with his AI. Briareos took stock of the buildings all around the intersection and chose the tallest one. He snorted softly at his predictable habits even after years of 'the good life' as he eased into the empty lobby of the office building across the street. On rooftops his thoughts always felt clearer, his mood calmer. Some artifact of his sniper training, no doubt. He'd spent most of his childhood camped out on the top of some building or another, watching people through the scope of his gun while he waited for orders. Somehow he'd never quite outgrown the comfortable sensation of untouchable-ness that lurking above the crowds gave him.

He didn't have a gun anymore, but there was always the chance that if higher up, he could see some clue as to where Deunan had gone. The hallways were dark save for the emergency lights at regular intervals. He sighed, realizing that the explosion had probably disrupted power supplied to all nearby buildings. Not even bothering to check the elevator, Briareos leaned against the door to the stairs, jogging upwards the full ten flights and arriving at the top only a little winded. Just went to show, being a cyborg was good for something after all.

Instinct led him from the carpeted hallway to a boring looking utility door. From there it was a short flight of steps to the roof. It was unlocked. He strode out into the sunny space, not at all surprised to see the pair of officers turning to stare at him in blank amazement from where they crouched at the edge.

"Hey." He nodded to the two nervously blinking young lieutenants. A shooter and a rookie observing the game, he deduced on first glance. "If you haven't been told to stand down yet, you might as well. No point trying to line up a shot into a mess like that. We have to wait for the dust to clear if nothing else."

"Shit… You- You're Briareos, right?" The sniper slid his headset off his ears in order to talk with him. "I mean- I heard you were back on the force… after your accident. It's - um - good to see you again, sir. What the hell is going on down there? One minute I'm getting my 'standby' orders… getting my breathing down… next minute, we've got helicopters coming in out of nowhere doing the whole 'Black Ops' bullshit on the building's roof! Damned explosives going off, messing up my line, and no one's telling us a damned thing because they're all too busy shouting at each other! It's like a damned riot in there!"

"Some jackass from the European Alliance decided the character running our holdup was a 'person of interest' for _his_ jurisdiction. They jumped in to take over even though we already had two teams in the building on a final-count-down. Gave the Colonel all of a minute's warning. The old man is livid." Briareos supplied grimly, filling the officers in on the latest news.

"Oh for the love of… someone's going to get shot by a friendly in there…" The young man scrubbed his head in frustration. "This is nuts."

"You connected to the 'truck?" Briareos moved to stand next to them, not worried about being discrete. Nobody involved in the melee undoubtedly taking place in the tower across the street would be worried about what was happening _outside_. Likewise, every television camera on the scene was filming the smoking rubble. For once he was happily anonymous. If only he could confirm that his girl was all right too? He'd be a damned ecstatic.

Briareos prayed that Deunan was smart enough to recognize that the op had gone south, and had kept her head down. Neither she nor the hostages were in a particularly good position, given the open floor plan of most of the floors. But at least she had a full booster of anti-toxin nanites going for her. If the team was obliged to use teargas, or something less pleasant, she'd still be able to function well enough to get herself out of the line of fire. He hoped.

"Yeah, I mean, yes sir. You need a status check?" The junior sniper looked to his companion and then up at him. "I tried, but the channels are jammed. I can try again?"

"Buddy with me." Briareos unwound one of his communication cables for the second time that afternoon and gestured that the kid might as well attach it to his headset. It was just easier to find his own way into the network than to coach the younger officer in what to say and how to get a priority channel. Besides, he wasn't actually interested in speaking with the Colonel right at the moment. What he really wanted was the damned security cameras. He had to know what was going on.

The system load on the computers he was remotely jacked into was absurdly heavy. He shook his head at the sensation of being in a room where everyone was shouting at once. It probably wasn't far from the truth. Luck had it that there was access to the video feed. He leaned on it unrepentantly, using the network of cameras as a hundred additional eyes. Between them, and the radio chatter he was able to isolate specific groups in the madhouse.

Jim's team was on the seventh floor, shooting it out with some of the terrorists. Two unrecognized teams were setting up to stay on the roof, pretty much trapping the crooks on the top floors of the building.

Three hostages were reported dead already, collateral damage from either the explosives or just killed by stray bullets. Briareos cursed at the sight of the bodies. Five more were rescued and in police custody, that was something. He didn't kid himself that the reporters were going to go easy on the LAPD, even if it wasn't their fault. Checking the bedraggled group being led down the back stairs to safety he frowned, not seeing Deunan's familiar profile amongst them. It would have been too good to be true, he supposed, that she'd made it out with the others.

"Where are you girl?" He began to search more methodically. Abusing his control of the cameras, he overrode their default programming, and anyone else trying to use them for that matter. A pale-haired flicker on one of the views caught his attention immediately, but it took two tries to find a camera with the right angle to see what was going on.

Deunan.

He breathed a sigh of relief to see her alive, even if she was looking less than comfortable with her situation. A sallow looking man in a rumpled suit was using her as a human shield, one arm pinning her neck, forcing her to lean back against him as he walked backwards, waving a gun at whoever was threatening him. Switching cameras again, Briareos relaxed slightly at the sight of the familiar SWAT uniforms, but even his trusted teammates couldn't prevent a disaster if the dumb crook walked ass-first into a bunch of trigger-happy Interpol agents.

Panning the camera again to try and guess where the fool was heading, he jerked in surprise at the sight of… himself. Forgetting his initial agenda he marveled at the fact that the surveillance camera had the power to not only see through one of the smoky plate glass windows, but could actually focus on his position. Deunan was practically right in front of him, he discovered to his amusement. Less than four hundred feet away, if he discounted the fact that she was on the eighth floor, and he was on the tenth. Letting go of the video feed he used his own eyes for a moment, able to pick out bits of the action even with the awkward angle and the sunlight reflecting on the glass. She was going to get shot right in front of him, he realized morbidly. Backed into one team's line of fire as another unwittingly herded her captor across the building, she was going to end up another statistic for the news reporters to do editorials on.

Briareos surprised his companions by reaching down and lifting the long-barreled riffle off its tripod one-handed. "I… need to borrow this."

"Sir?!"

Mentally goading Deunan and her captor to come towards the windows he blessed the polarizing filters Zand had added to his kit. They stripped the glare down to near nothing, and gave him a relatively clear view of the hallway below. He double-checked their position against the security cameras. Still on the move. Still heading his way.

Briareos lifted the rifle onto his shoulder, marveling at how natural the oversized weapon felt resting against his neck. The scope was impossible to use with the configuration of his eyes, but it was a new model, able to be remotely sighted and triggered. It too had jacks for incoming data transfers. He plugged in to it without really giving it any thought, and immediately, he found the scope's view accessible.

It was completely insane, to hold the gun and be able to aim it with his 'eyes' closed. He couldn't shake the feeling that he _was_ the gun, or rather that it was a part of _him_. There'd been times in his past where he'd felt his weapon was an extension of his arm, but this brought it to a whole new level. It felt great.

"1640 to Command, priority channel." He requested the dispatch officer. "I have a shot."

"Stand by." The officer's startled voice made him smile to himself. In less than a heartbeat, the Colonel was on the line. "What the hell do you mean, you have a shot? Where are you? Where did you get a weapon?!"

"Knox Street, on the roof. Our target and Officer Knute are proceeding towards my location on the eighth floor. Team B is in pursuit. Have them fall back as soon as he reaches the windows, I can take it from there."

"You're not authorized." Carl barked. "You haven't picked up a rifle in months!"

"I have a shot." Briareos disagreed. "Or I will, in approximately forty seconds. Permission to fire?"

"Negative! Absolutely under no condition are you to shoot anything until we stabilize the situation!"

"The Interpols will have him, if he goes another fifty feet." He pointed out through his teeth. "Do you have authority to tell _them_ to not fire?"

"Insubordinate fool. Stand by. Do not shoot. Let's at least _pretend_ to be professionals…" The line went dead as his commander tried to keep the situation from unraveling further.

Briareos gritted his teeth in annoyance. At least the police team had stopped, their lack of progress clearly confusing the lone terrorist. He couldn't see anything from outside. Switching back to the security camera he hissed at the image. Deunan was dusty from head to foot, not shouting curses at her captor the way he'd half expected but tight-lipped and hyper-vigilant to her situation. She knew. She had to know how dangerous her position was. He checked for a chambered-round out of habit, noting the caliber of the cartridge out of professional interest. It was good enough for the plate glass covering the remains of the building, he was confident.

Taking a slow breath, and letting it out, he snorted to himself at how it was no longer necessary. His hands didn't shake anymore. They probably never would again, short of some sort of mechanical failure. Glancing down at the pair of officers staring at him again in awe he figured he might as well try and put them at ease. The last thing he wanted was for them to get it into their heads that he'd gone off the rails.

"You're new on the team, right?" His gun, and half his attention remained aimed at the windows below even as he turned to nod at the rookies. "You like it so far?"

"It's uh, a lot of work, sir."

"I had you in one of my classes once… a ways back. Didn't I? You look familiar." He found he suddenly remembered their faces. He'd coached any number of cadets through gun-range basics over the years. A select few he'd even mentored with their sharp-shooting. He couldn't remember if it'd been the case with these two.

"I had a theory lecture with you." The officer with the name tag of 'Curtz' clipped to his shirt agreed slowly. His partner nodded. "We studied advanced riflery under Officer Oranda."

"He knows his shit. I'm sure you're going to do just fine." Briareos shook his head again at how he was utterly muscling in on what should have been their show. They were both young enough that they still would want to make a reputation for themselves. "Sorry about this, by the way. I've got a… let's just call it a vested interest, in making sure the situation doesn't get any worse over there…"

Curtz held up his hands in a clear 'no problem' gesture. "You do what you need to do, sir. I'm just glad to observe. You probably don't remember, but you once demo-ed on a moving target for us on campus. Not even a fancy gun, just a standard issue Mark2. Ten bulls-eyes in fifteen seconds at a range of 400 meters. You were amazing."

"That. That was a long time ago." Briareos exhaled again, trying to remember exactly when that random feat had been.

Suddenly he wasn't so sure he was thinking straight. It was all well and good to say it _felt_ natural to be holding a weapon again, but the Colonel was right. He hadn't actually fired one since before he'd lost his fight with the bout of depression that had knocked him on his ass for half the year. He'd gone to the range and watched _Deunan_ shoot, but that was hardly the same thing. What if he was wrong?

His gut told him he wasn't.

Tightening his grip on the stock he studied the image from the scope with a sense of satisfaction. The idiot had finally stopped, right in front of the windows. But he couldn't see Deunan at all with the way the crook was angling his body. Cross checking with the internal cameras, he made a small adjustment so he could be certain he wouldn't hit her.

"1640 to HQ." He reminded his commander pointedly. "Target is open. I can wrap this up in two seconds, just give me the god damned order."

"Negative." Carl snarled. "The fools upstairs demand we take him alive."

"Not going to happen." Briareos stated flatly. "He's bugging out. I can see it from here. Ask the team chasing him if you don't believe me. The guy isn't going to come in quietly."

"1631 to 1640, hold fire I think the hostage is rigged!"

"What?"

Recognizing Jim's call number was the only thing that made the message truly register. Briareos released the trigger, focus broken. "Repeat that?"

"She's fucking rigged. Suspect just moved his arm. We couldn't see before because he had her in a headlock but she's wired. He must have booby-trapped her between the manager's office and here. Explains why she hadn't kneed him yet, at any rate."

"How." He asked, beating the Colonel to the question. "Can you tell how the rig is put together?"

His only response was some muffled shouting, the words were unintelligible, but he could recognize his friends' voices, and in the distance Deunan's angry reply. Jim returned to the channel with a curse. "She says he's holding the toggle in his right hand. It's an 'on release'. Two ounces of liquid explosive attached to a collar."

"Shit." Briareos dropped the connection for a moment needing a chance to get his thoughts together. Carl was more then happy to fill the void, giving orders to the various teams to regroup and brace for potential explosion.

It could still be done, he told himself. Either Deunan, or another officer, would be obliged to make a well timed grab for the detonator, but given the choice between shooting, and reopening negotiations, he preferred the former. Dead, the jackass wouldn't be causing him any more stress. Picking up the channel again, he found the Colonel had established a private line for Jim, and simply invited himself in on their tense conversation. "Could Deunan keep the stud depressed? If given fair warning?"

"Her hands are tied, but they're 'round front…" Jim agreed while their employer sputtered at the interruption. There'd be hell to pay later, Briareos knew. "She'd probably be willing to give it a try, given the alternative… But man, he'd got her pinned against his chest! Anything you hit him with is going to hit her too…"

"For the shot I was planning? Let's just say you won't be using dental records to ID his corpse."

"Absolutely not." Carl vetoed through his teeth.

"You're saying we should just let the asshole blow up your daughter?" Briareos asked in disbelief.

"I think you're letting your emotions affect your judgment." His commander barked. Briareos was distractedly glad that his was not the only voice raised in inadvertent protest regarding his emotional involvement in Deunan's or any other officer's impending demise. Jim's distressed 'sir!' was an echo of his own. Carl Knute was beyond reasoning with however, pissed about the collapsing situation and not particularly interested in being rebuked. "Need I remind you _again_, 1640, you're not authorized yet to so much as participate in a mission of this importance? Much less take part in active combat?"

"From where I stand, you don't have too many options, sir." Briareos pointed out grimly. "The others shooters aren't in position to help, and if Jim makes a move Deunan is pretty much dead. So you can choose between me… or the two rookies sitting here next to me."

Glancing down he shrugged to show there were no hard feelings. The pair of junior sharpshooters next to him weren't part of the greater conversation but had clearly picked up the jist and waved off his apology with energetic motions. Neither of the young men was keen to take the weapon back. He couldn't blame them. Being the guy responsible for shooting the Commander's daughter rather than her captor, due to fledgling nerves would hardly make either of them any friends on the squad.

Really, when he thought about it that way, _he_ was the perfect choice. If he fucked up, and hit her, or missed by a mile and caused the terrorist to detonate the explosive… he wouldn't care if everyone hated him or not, or even if he was branded criminally negligent for taking matters into his own hands. With Deunan's death the very real outcome of his failure, there wasn't much else the world could do to punish him further.

The gravity of what he was about to attempt suddenly struck him, causing him to nearly miss what Colonel Knute was barking about. They might argue about politics and precedent, but Deunan was in serious jeopardy. Torn between shooting first and apologizing later, and the faint beginnings of a genuine panic, Briareos ground his teeth together as he fought to maintain his equilibrium. He needed it to shoot. There'd be time later to freak out from the stress once he had his girl safely home again.

He brought the rifle back up into a firing stance, drawing a line on his prey. The security cameras showed the same standoff as before, the man's back almost to the glass as he hurled insults and demands towards Jim and the others. Deunan had both hands clamped around the hand clamped against her throat. She looked both pissed and uncomfortable as she fought against being strangled by the bastard, deliberately, or otherwise. The chunky looking 'collar' of explosives lay heavily around her shoulders. He preyed that the device wasn't hair-triggered. Ideally it wouldn't be functional at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Sharpshooter (ch4)

Characters and Universe created by Masamune Shirow

This fic is set in the Manga universe, prewar (Deunan & Bri are working for the LAPD)

88888888888888

BRIAREOS

A plan was never made that _someone_ couldn't throw a wrench into at the last minute. Even as Briareos was sighing in relief, receiving the green-light from the Colonel to take the shot he was itching for, Deunan's captor had made plans of his own. Both girl and con disappeared momentarily out of view of the window and the security cameras as the thug kicked a door down and retreated inwards, into an interior office suite. Briareos swore in frustration at the wasted opportunity. Big Jim barked orders to his team to move forward and try and anticipate the man's next moves.

It took precious seconds to find another security camera of any use. Briareos crosschecked against the blueprints he'd found earlier, trying to understand what it was he was looking at in relation to the building proper. According to his 'eyes' visibility on the target was a whopping _zero_. But his scope had infrared, and several of the cameras in the building were able to focus on the crime-scene, and the angle… wasn't all that bad. Looking down at the shooters sitting nearby he jerked his chin at their bag of gear. "Don't suppose you guys have anything in your bag of tricks that can go through concrete?"

The older of the pair of officers blinked and promptly bent to check. "I've got… an extra heavy… and some AP's… but the accuracy…"

"I am aware." Briareos cut off the unnecessary commentary. Ejecting the round already in the gun and holding it ready between his fingers, he accepted the new bullet and chambered it instead. If he thought too much about what he was about to do, he was certain he'd choke.

Switching over to his radio, he hailed Jim. "1631, would she hear you if you shouted?"

"Sure, man. But what-"

"Tell her…" He wished he could grin, feeling the beginnings of an adrenaline rush for the first time in months. "Tell the girl, that _I_ said… 'Sneeze.'"

"What?"

"Just tell her."

"Are you crazy?" Jim hissed in disbelief. "She's not anywhere near a window…"

"Then you'd better make sure you're not between me, and the thing I'm shooting blind at, hadn't you…" He refined his aim, marveling at how trivial compensating for the various views became the longer his AI worked at it. He could almost _feel_ it learning what he wanted, guided by his single-minded focus and the parameters of the equipment he was working with.

Jim didn't bother to turn off his radio, just pulled the headset away from his mouth while he shouted down the hall. His message was rather garbled by the feedback, but all that mattered was Deunan's reaction. It had been a running joke between them for years that she was rather suggestible when it came to sneezing. Even seeing someone else sneeze usually made his girl's nose itch. With the amount of dust she was breathing, it was no risk to say she was probably overdue.

Watching with cameras and scopes through the side of the bank building his fingers twitched on the trigger even as he watched Deunan jerk forward by the small but necessary degree to keep her out of his shot. No sooner than the first bullet had left the chamber than he was reloading, slamming the new shell into the previous one's place and re-aligning the gun to send the second shot chasing after the first, using the hole he'd just drilled in the wall to ensure his target was eliminated. There was no outward sign of the damage he'd just done. One extra hole in the side of the already bomb-scared bank didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Within was another story all together. The camera showed him little other than chaos, spatters of blood clinging to the lens. He grimaced, knowing with the angle and trajectory of his shot it wouldn't have been a tidy kill.

"1640 to 1631, what the hell is going on in there…" Briareos forbid himself from feeling a sudden surge of guilt at not being able to tell where Deunan was in the mess. Jim had been right around the corner, he prayed the man would be able to give him good news.

"Christ man, did you have to 'pop' him? It's like a B-grade horror movie in here." Big Jim's candid critique didn't make him feel any better about events. "God he's all over the ceiling too… Cleaners are going to read you the riot act…"

"Report situation status!" Carl overrode Jim's further commentary in order to goad the man to the point. Either he genuinely cared for news regarding his daughter, or he just wanted to know how much damage control to do, Briareos couldn't guess.

Jim sighed in patient annoyance as he was pressed on all sides by demands, "Standby."

Briareos listened tensely to the muted muttering coming from his friend's radio, almost certain he heard Deunan's voice amidst the garble but not perfectly sure. There was so much other chatter going on that it was impossible to say what was happening until Jim decided to enlighten them. The big SWAT officer came back onto the radio with a second sigh. "1631 to HQ. Bomb threat has been addressed. 1605 got the collar off of the hostage with no incidents. Detonators are clipped and it is bagged for removal. Hostage checks out with only minor scratches and lacerations. Suspect is… Deceased, to put it mildly. We're going to need a cleanup crew and forensics to collect the pieces for… whatever it is Brussels wants to do with him now. Switching to coded line for further details?"

"Granted. Standby." The colonel muttered something to his audience first then came back on the channel. "Move to line 2. 1640 I assume you're still listening?"

"Already over." He replied. Relieved to hear Deunan was unhurt, he finally allowed himself to relax.

Looking down at the still anxious pair of officers next to him he nodded slowly to give them the good news. "I think we're done." He passed Curtz back his rifle, feeling chagrined all over again at what a bully he'd been. Taking and using another sniper's gear without asking was just rude. "Sorry for that. I'll make it up to you."

"Man, you just shot a perp through a brick wall. You can borrow my rig anytime." The younger man's awed statement made him want to laugh at the absurdity of what he'd just done.

Glancing back toward the bank, and the blank wall he'd been aiming at, the events of a moment before did suddenly seem terribly surreal. What on earth had made him think that would work?

Obviously it _had_ worked, but in hindsight, lining up a shot with nothing more than a few security cameras, and infrared profile, and a building blueprint seemed like the mother of all insanity. Briareos rubbed his head, sheepishly amused at his previous and absolute confidence. Maybe the commander was right to question his sanity, if he was going to go pulling shit like this. The truly weird thing was, he felt pretty certain that if he had to do it again, he'd be able to. The trick-shot just hadn't _felt_ hard while he was setting it up. The whole thing had seemed pretty natural, really, for something that would have been utterly impossible for a non-cyborg. He rubbed his head again, marveling at his accomplishment. The urge to pat his AI and tell it 'good boy' was silly enough to make him want to laugh again.

"Colonel, I strongly suggest you back one of the SWAT vans up against the bank's basement loading dock and get my team out without the reporters swarming." Jim's voice was more relaxed now that he was on a restricted line. "Your daughter is fine, but… she's painted pretty much from head to foot. Not exactly a good PR photo. We can transfer her to an EMT on campus if it ends up being necessary. Mostly I think she's just rattled."

"Agreed." Carl stated firmly. "I'll send team A out the front to distract the vultures, are there any other injuries?"

"Not on my team. The late-arrivals are bitching about precedent and procedure, but I'm pretty much blowing them off. I'll leave three guys here to guard the scene so that nobody tracks through what's left of Mr. Menolo… but other than that I'd say we're done. What the hell did you shoot him with, B? It sounded like a rocket hitting the side of the building… we all had ear protection in after the first few explosions, but Deunan says she's half deaf."

"I needed to shoot twice to make sure I pierced all the walls." Briareos admitted grimly. "One heavy shot, one regular… probably being inside made them echo for you. Sorry about that."

"I'm taking video of the exit-point from the wall." Jim remarked cheerfully. "I've never seen a hole anything like this. You cavitated the damned plasterwork. It'll take a pro to do the post analysis and tell us if the first bullet made it all the way in, but the second one definitely got where it was going. You're insane, you know that right? Not two shooters in two thousand could make a shot like that. Even cyborgs… How the hell did you know where to aim?"

"I'm… not entirely sure I can explain." Briareos sighed. "I just wanted to make sure I wouldn't hit Deunan."

"What?" Jim's attention was obviously elsewhere. "No girl, no way, you're covered in… awww hell no, wait… wait!" His words became garbled as they were interrupted by the sounds of rubbing cloth and clatter.

"Bri?" Deunan's voice was louder than the officer's had been. Sounding altogether too happy for a girl who'd just come within a hair's breath of death, she laughed breathlessly. "Jesus, Bri. Are you there? I can't hear a god damned thing, so if you are you'll have to speak up…"

"I'm here." It took him two tries to get through to her. He could almost picture her breathless excitement. Torn between scolding and simply wanting to crush her close as his own anxieties faded, he tried to get her to listen. "Are you ok?"

"I… god, Jim! Just give me a second ok?! I know we've got to go!" She returned to the radio sounding aggrieved. "Two things, baby, then I've got to give this idiot his headset back. One? You are _totally_ buying me new outfit, handsome, because this one is trashed. I am like _dripping_ here. I've got _brains_ in my _hair_. This is so utterly uncool I can't even begin to tell you. And two… That. Was Fucking Awesome! You took his _head_ off! Did Jim tell you that? I felt the shockwave! There's like… nothing left! As soon as I shower… twice… possibly three times… you are _so_ getting laid tonight-"

"Deunan!" Carl reminded her that he was still listening in, and that some things were inappropriate to announce at the top of one's lungs even when on a secure line. "You- That- I would-" He sputtered in outrage. "Give that headset back to 1631 at _once_, moron. And then get your ass down to the basement for extraction. I do not want to hear a _peep_ out of you until you're back on base. Do you read me?"

"Yessir." She drawled happily, not particularly upset by her parent's fury.

Briareos pressed his palm to his face very glad he couldn't blush anymore. Mortified at his woman's high-spirited declarations and also overjoyed at the same time. He discretely disconnected from the channel, not needing, or wanting to hear anymore of the conversation. Jim, and the entirety of SWAT Team B, would undoubtedly spread the news of his punishment, and upcoming reward, whether he wanted such things to be public-domain or not. He just prayed that his commander wouldn't bring it up at his inevitable debriefing over the whole incident, because he had enough to cringe over already. Still, if Deunan was well enough that she could make fools out of both of them with her plans for the near future, he decided that he was happy enough that he didn't really care either. He followed the other officers back down into the building before the news drones got bored and spotted them.

Hitching a ride back to base with the second SWAT team to retreat from the cordon, he looked around at the unchanged layout of the police academy where he'd spend the past years of his life feeling at a loss. Was he supposed to just go back to his little desk and keep working as if he _hadn't_ just muscled in on a major op this afternoon? Was he supposed to go home and await the inevitable disciplinary probation? In the end his feet took him towards the medical clinic, peering in to see if any small blonde dynamos were being treated. Seeing no evidence of her, his second guess brought him to the locker rooms by the gym.

The odd hour in the afternoon meant that there wasn't much traffic through the sports complex. The women's side, especially, was never crowded due to the nature of the student body on campus. Briareos checked around the edge of the door with an extendible, not stupid enough to risk a beat-down by a fellow officer of a female persuasion for treading where he didn't belong. The empty main-room and the sound of distant showering required him to make an executive decision. The odds that there was more than one girl scrubbing in the middle of the afternoon, and that she wasn't _his_ girl, were low enough that he was willing to risk it. After all, hadn't his minx once done the same for him? A quick check of the cleaning closet and he found a sign to hang on the door. Trying to not feel guilty at the subterfuge, he snuck into the tiled back-hallway leading to the showers just in time for the water to be shut off. Blonde and scrubbed pink, Deunan was just tucking the towel around her chest grumbling softly to herself.

"Boo." He offered as he leaned around the corner. "You alone?"

"Jesus!" She all but dropped her tote full of soap and shampoo as she turned to stare at him. "Bri! You know better than to be in here! You'll be strung up if you're caught."

"I hung a 'cleaning' sign up." He shrugged sheepishly. "Hopefully anyone who wanders in will think to look for the janitor first before giving me an unsolicited peep-show."

Deunan crossed over to him and swung her basket lightly against his arm. "It _better_ be unsolicited..." She smiled up at him to show she wasn't particularly upset. "What is with you today, anyway… You haven't been this feisty for ages… Yelling at dad… shooting things… rescuing damsels in distress… If you're not careful people are going to say you're chomping at the bit and raring for a return to the lines, handsome."

"Maybe." Briareos cupped her chin, noting the scrapes and bruises that marred her cheeks and shoulders. Nothing too serious, was the marvel, but still, it irked him to see she'd gotten hurt at all. "Doc check you over for anything amiss?"

"Did everything short of tip me upside down and shake briskly to see what fell out of my pockets." She agreed cheerfully. "Turns out _I_ am fine. You should have seen the other guy." She joked wickedly.

"I had to aim high." He tried to apologize for the mess he'd wrought. "If I'd gone for a chest shot, rusty as I was? I might have hit _you_ in the head, and that is something I'd have never forgiven myself for."

"It was stupendous." Deunan grinned again, "I was standing right there, and I still can't believe what you did. _Everyone_ is going to be talking about it, you know. You'll have a really hard time claiming to be unfit for duty after pulling a stunt like that."

"I've been thinking… I kind of miss it." Briareos shrugged, tilting his face to allow her an easier time of reaching his cheek. She pet his jaw and neck with an idle caress as she studied him, clearly wondering at his change in attitude.

"Do you?" Her smile became thoughtful, "Really?"

"Yeah. I guess so." He shrugged again. "Why, you suddenly getting cold feet about SWAT? Still plenty of time for you to go part time at your precinct and sit for a college entrance exam, you know."

"Not for all the world." Deunan raised her arms in a wordless gesture. It made her look like a little kid when she did that, but he couldn't deny her. It was far to easy, and undeniably pleasant to pick her up as she wanted, supporting her shoulders with one arm, and her thighs with the other he swept her off her feet like an old fashioned Hollywood heroine. Deunan managed to avoid smacking him in the head with her tote as she wrapped her arms around his neck and closed for a kiss. "My hero."

Briareos huffed in amusement as he met her half way. His girl might be a little roughed up, but she was still perfectly warm and willing. After a thorough inspection of her lips and tongue, he pulled back with a sigh. "Idiot. I was scared to death for you."

"No you weren't." She grinned as she rested her head against his shoulder. "You were just as pissed as dad was, admit it. How _dare_ I take my own hostage situation lightly! I wasn't even on duty when I went to the bank! But you'd better be sure he'll read me chapter, verse, and citation tomorrow when I get my debriefing/grilling. I thought I did pretty damned well for off-the-cuff… old geezer has _no_ sense of humor."

Seeing her look to him out of the corner of her eye, Briareos got the distinct impression that bold-words aside, his kitten wasn't entirely confident in her performance. He squeezed her gently as he carried her back through to the main locker-room and settled them on a bench. "You, little girl, did far better in there than any of us could have hoped for. I cannot tell you how glad I am to have you here, now, with nothing more than scratches to show for it. You could have been shot… easily 5 times over in all that craziness, and not by me. So yes. While I'm not exactly thrilled by the idea of being called 'Honey-Bear' by every moron-in-blue on this side of the city for the rest of the month… I'll take it. Since in all other ways your performance was excellent."

"You _do_ owe me a new outfit." She reminded him pointedly. "Blazer. Shirt. Pants. Socks. Shoes. Lingerie. The works. I threw it all out. Hell. You owe me a trip to the salon too…"

"What?" He protested, "That wasn't part of the original punishment! You trying to make me poor?"

"My _hair_ is the wrong color. Bri." Deunan pointed at her scalp with an annoyed expression. "_Look_ at it! It's wrong! This is _not_ my shade of blonde! Sitting in that waiting for the van and then riding back took like half an hour! The crap _dried_ on me, and stained my hair! Your fault! You owe me!"

"Now you're just overreacting." Briareos had to laugh. Wet and slicked against her head as it was, he couldn't see anything notably different about her hair. "It's fine. Smells like strawberries. No harm done."

"It's _wrong_." She disagreed stubbornly. "I'm not going to walk around with stained hair for a month. I demand you take responsibility!"

"I'm sure once you dry it you won't be able to tell the difference."

"The next day off we get, you are taking me out and getting me clothing. And shoes. And fixing my hair. And you aren't complaining. At all. Got it?" She poked him with a ruthless finger as she pushed out of his arms and stood in front of him. "I had bits of his _teeth_ stuck to me, Bri. That was utterly, and totally, disgusting. You owe me."

He was obliged to submit beneath her glare, acknowledging that the experience of standing next to a man reduced to sudden components by a high caliber slug through the back of his head _was_ pretty horrible. It was a wonder she wasn't traumatized by the mess. As it was Deunan looked more annoyed then horrified. Pointing out that he was just trying to save her neck wasn't going to win him a pardon, he figured. A few hundred dollars was a small price to pay for Deunan's good mood after a day like she'd had. He'd bring a book and get some reading done while she ran most of her errands. For the rest? With any luck she'd let him help pick out the lingerie.

"Fine fine." He sighed. Looking around at the empty locker room he wondered if they might as well get a head start on the long list of chores. "Sure you don't want to start now? I've got nothing pressing. And anyone who expects you to report back to your precinct after what you've been through needs to have their head examined."

"Nuh'uh." Deunan opened her locker and pulled out a spare uniform, quickly trading her towel for the traditional layers of undergarments, shirt and trousers. Glancing over her shoulder she winked at him. "Today, we're going out to get some food, because I _still_ haven't had my lunch. Then home so that I can change into something that isn't a uniform. Then we're staying _in_ until morning. I'll punish you for messing up my clothes tomorrow. Your reward for rescuing me from the nefarious clutches of terrorists comes first."

"Oh." He would have blinked if he could, remembering suddenly what _else_ she had shouted at him over the radio. Deunan settled herself back into his lap with a purr, kissing his nose playfully. "_Oh_." He felt like an idiot as she made plain her intentions. "Well… ok. What do you want for lunch?"

"Meat. Lots of it." She grinned at him. "Think your new-found sense of adventure will allow for a trip to the barbeque place down on the strip? Or have you had enough of people gawking at you for one day?"

"I could go for some ribs." He tilted his head as he considered the idea. It wasn't like people didn't stare at him _wherever_ they went, so why not just get some good food to make up for the annoyance of it?

Deunan kissed him again in gratitude for going along with her plan. "Great. Let me just dry my hair alright?" He nodded distracted by the sight of her pulling out of his arms again. She looked good even when encased in the utilitarian colors and shapes of the usual city squad blues. The glimpses of her before she slipped into the clothing were even better. He lost the last bit of her commentary as he mused about how good she'd look later if she followed though on her plans for him come evening.

"Hey. Earth to Briareos." She raised an eyebrow at him, noticing his obliviousness.

"I'm sorry, what?" He shook his head, feeling foolish.

"I said, get _out_ of here before someone catches you hanging around in the women's locker room!" She waved her brush at him in playful threat.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Taking the sign off the door, he retreated to the relative safety of the hallway to wait for his girl.

Undoubtedly there'd be hell to pay for both of them when the Colonel wrapped up his politicking down town, but that probably wouldn't be until tomorrow. And even if they were both suspended a solid week for their respective stupidity, he had a hunch that he and his girl would have plenty to do with their free time. It'd been a long time, he supposed, since Colonel Knute had called him to the carpet regarding something Deunan had done. It'd be weirdly nostalgic to get chewed out by the old man, all things considered. It signaled a return to a life he'd once enjoyed. He was almost looking forward to it.


End file.
